


The Benefit

by Endangered_Slug



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: AU, F/M, Fluff, Romance, just exactly what you would expect fromme by now really, silly stuff
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-01-19
Updated: 2016-02-19
Packaged: 2018-03-08 07:34:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 10,721
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3200813
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Endangered_Slug/pseuds/Endangered_Slug
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Belle French needs to raise money for the town library and decides the best way to do so is with a bachelorette auction, much to the dismay of the town’s pawnbroker, Mr. Gold. </p>
<p>Written for theladyofthedarkcastle who truly had a rotten weekend.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [theladyofthedarkcastle](https://archiveofourown.org/users/theladyofthedarkcastle/gifts).



 

The Storybrooke Free Public Library was blissfully air conditioned, which was why most of the town found its way inside during the languid months of summer. Even Mr. Gold, town terror and primary landowner, found himself within its walls when the days grew long and hot and he stifled in his wool suits. The fact that he could also find intelligent conversation with someone who looked him in the eye and smiled was a strong reason for his weekly visits, but he kept himself to himself for the most part, only venturing a quip or two to garner enough notice from the head librarian to last him for another week.

Gold could see that his intended distraction was already busy with someone else so he slowed down to a saunter until he was close enough to insert himself into the conversation. Rude maybe, but Belle would forgive him and the other one didn't matter. He set his carefully chosen books on the counter with a thump, smirking when Belle glanced at him with a smile before returning her attention to her friend.

"Books and Babes?" Ruby suggested, pointedly ignoring him, as she scribbled on a scrap of paper.

Belle shook her head. "While technically true, I don't want to be called a babe. It's demeaning. How about Beauty and the Book?" she asked, ticking a box on her checklist.

"Summer reading program, Miss French?" he asked with a half-smile. He was willing to watch her work all day, but he had an appointment to keep.

"Oh, that's a good idea,” she told him, looking up at him with a smile. “I'll have to remember that for next year. But, no. We're hosting a charity auction next month and we're trying to come up with a name."

He raised his eyebrows with some interest. “And what's the charity?” he asked.

"I am," she said with a bright smile. "Well, the _library_ actually. I've been hoping to add on a new children's wing instead of just having them occupy the back corner. There just isn't enough room any more. We can expand in the back by knocking down that wall over there and then build another wall where the vestibule opens out,” she pointed. “So then we can have a dedicated young adult section as well. Right now everything is squished in together and it's not ideal. We may even be able to put in a reading room or two if there's enough money.” She looked up at him through her eyelashes. “Um, if you— if you like, I can show you my sketches so you can see what I have in mind.”

Mr. Gold glanced at the clock behind her. “Now?”

Her smile fell a notch. “No, of course not. You're busy and so am I.”

He didn't like being the cause of her unhappiness. She should always be smiling as far as he was concerned, which was a ridiculous notion — no one could smile all the time. He glanced at the clock again and made up his mind; the appointment could wait.

“I'm not all that busy,” he said. “As a member of the town council, I can certainly spare enough time to hear about our town's literary needs.”

He spoke so drily and without any hint of smile, but the glint in his eye belied his sense of humor about it. Belle huffed out a laugh before moving behind her desk to look for a folder, which she pulled out from underneath a stack of papers. Ruby rolled her eyes as she gathered up her papers, leaving with a faint, “see you” as she stomped away.

Belle barely noticed, her attention was all on Gold. “I've been writing grants and pleading my case to the mayor but she doesn't think the town is ready for another tax hike..." she handed the folder to him, opening it up to a page on which a rough sketch of the library was drawn.

"And so you're hosting an auction?” he asked, mentally going through a list of available items in his shop he would be able to anonymously donate.

She smiled. “Yes! I've been doing some research and according to our town charter library funds get revisited every fiscal year, except they haven't been for the last three. Regina doesn't want to allocate more funds for our use so I hoped to create awareness and gain support through this benefit," she explained. "I hope you'll come? You can even make a bid if you want. It's for the children?"

“What exactly would I be bidding on?” he said, glancing over the sketch and reviewing her estimated figures.

“Well, Ruby had the idea of having a bachelorette auction. The winners will be getting a nice dinner provided by the lady and the knowledge that they helped make a difference in our children's futures."

He slapped the folder closed. “Seriously?”

She looked taken aback. “It's just dinner and a date. There's no harm in it. Even a few of the nuns have volunteered."

Gold shuddered at the thought of spending any time with the Mother Superior and her smug face. "Are they even allowed?” he asked.

“Well, it's all strictly platonic of course. And Sister Astrid makes the best chili you've ever tasted. She even came second place at a chili cook-off. In _Texas_."

“Texas?” This was exactly the opposite of how he wanted this conversation to go and he didn't know how to get it back on track.

“She'd have won completely if she didn't put in beans,” she replied with second-hand pride.

The whole thing sounded ridiculous. If the library needed funds he was more than ready to issue a small loan for it. All Belle had to do was to ask instead of parade around before the drooling hoard of cavemen this town had to offer— The thought hit him like a freight train and he frowned at her. "Wait a minute. You're not doing this are you?" he asked, feeling quite sick.

"Well, I'm the head librarian and single,” she said with a shy smile. “It would look wrong if I didn't.”

She set the folder down carefully and looked at him with wide eyes. He could get lost in those eyes if he let his guard down. It would be so easy to just let himself let her in...

“You could bid. If you wanted to," she told him, softly.

He blinked, taken aback. He'd rather she just asked for the money outright than go through this charade. A twisting ball of lead dropped into his gut. It was insulting. "No doubt you think it's the only way I'd be able to get a date in this town, Miss French," he said in distaste.

Her smiled dropped. "No, I didn't mean it like that at all—"

"Obviously, I'd need to pay someone and force my presence on them for a few hours over _beanie_ weenies. If you wanted a contribution you should have just asked, but there's nothing enticing about this auction. I wouldn't waste my money on it.”

She looked away rapidly and it must have been his imagination, but she seemed... almost... sad.

"I see." She cleared her throat before continuing, her voice quiet as she gave all her attention to the stack of books in front of her, finishing the check out process. "Well, it's certainly your choice, Mr. Gold. No one is being _forced_ to do anything." She handed the books to him, glancing up at his face before looking back down, fiddling with a rubber band. "Have a nice day."

He stood there for a moment but Belle had already turned away to unload books from the returns bin to process them. He couldn't shake the feeling that things were going all wrong.

It wasn't until he was back at his shop when he realized what he said, "There was nothing enticing" and “he wouldn't waste his money.”

 _Shit_. Well, no wonder Belle looked so downhearted about it. He was the richest person in town. No doubt she was hoping for his participation.

The knot in his stomach grew until he was nearly breathless. That she was going to do the unthinkable, auction herself off on a stupid dinner date, was intolerable. Some sticky Neanderthal would take advantage of her before you could say "sold".

He could, he supposed, do as she asked and bid on her himself. There wasn't one woman in this town that he would even consider doing this for but, for Belle, he would break out the checkbook. The idea of paying for her was repugnant to him. Still, he figured it would be the only way to get a date with her.

Gold didn't know when this urge to date Belle came up, but it certainly took root in his brain once it began. He certainly liked Belle better than anyone he'd ever met before—not that she'd know if after the way he treated her. He thought about it when he saw the posters advertising the event as he collected rent. He agonized over attending when he saw the list of women willing to parade themselves in front of the town for the children's wing. He wavered every time he saw a flash of Belle nearby. He hadn't had a chance to talk to her again after his ridiculous temper tantrum, too ashamed of his behavior and uncertain of his reception to go back. He used the night depository to return his books unread and didn't go back for more.

He didn't want to see her, but he couldn't stop thinking of her. When would it end? When he watched her be auctioned off like cattle to the highest bidder? What if she hated the person who bought her time? Worse, what if she liked him? A lot? What if the person expected more than just dinner? There were some men in town that would try to force themselves on a person if they felt they were owed.

The idea of sweet, kind, beautiful Belle in the arms of some faceless man turned the ever present knot into a boulder that settled in his gut like lead. He knew he was being ridiculous but he couldn't stop imagining it. Belle, smiling sweetly at her dinner companion. Belle in a frilly apron serving up plates of delicious food. Belle being groped and molested. Belle crying and in distress.

He looked at the clock. The benefit was in two hours. He had just enough time to get to his house and change before it started. He closed up the shop in a hurry. He had a date to see to.

 

 


	2. Chapter 2

When Gold arrived to the benefit, the auditorium was just as crowded as he feared with the proceedings well underway by the time he’d made it to the venue and paid to get in. Even if the bids were low, they would make a tidy sum from the entry fee alone, he thought, resenting even being there.

Onstage, Ashley was turning around slowly, jutting out her hips and enjoying the attention while someone in the audience, who clearly didn’t get the memo that this was to be a dignified affair, whistled. Belle was standing behind a podium off to the side — looking breathtaking, microphone in a dainty hand and reading a menu that Ashley prepared in the hopes that, if the date itself didn't tempt anyone, maybe her cooking would.

It was sickening. Why didn’t Belle just come to him? He would have gladly given her the money. Begged for her to take it if he knew she was in need.

He fidgeted in his seat, uncomfortable and feeling antsy. He was in the shadows in the back row and only the fact that he paid to get in kept him in his seat. A faceless usher had thrust a program guide in his hand as he walked in and on it was a list of the women (and three men) who were participating. Belle’s name was last on the list, he hadn’t missed her auction.

He eyed the blurb under her entry noting that “picnic in the park” was pretty ambiguous. That could mean anything from sandwiches and lemonade to a fully catered affair. He liked that she was smart enough to have it in a public space instead of in her home where she would be vulnerable to unwanted attentions. Should any arise, that is.

He looked around, guessing who might try to win a date with the beautiful librarian. They all looked equally worthless to him — dirty, sleazy, smelly, nasty, hairy, and handsy. It was like the six dwarfs of Storybrooke just in his row alone. That would probably make him Grumpy to make it an even seven.

Well, that settled it. There was nothing else to do he simply had to bid for, and win, Belle.

He’d brought his checkbook with him, naturally, and felt confident that he would be able to outbid everyone in the building five times over. If cash wasn’t enough well then he supposed there was a property he could part with under the right circumstances. Such as… such as… the thought faded away as Belle’s voice washed over him once the cheers of the audience died down and he was struck breathless, once again, at the way she radiated with loveliness. And, even though she was very much present and doing her job admirably, she kept turning her enchanting blue eyes towards the back doors in anticipation of… what?

He supposed she had prearranged for someone to bid on her and he should have considered that she would have a fail-safe, some kind of back-up plan just in case there was an unexpected and unwanted attempt by a nameless buffoon who would dare bid on her. She probably had a boyfriend or, at least, judging by the way she bit her bottom lip in disappointment every time she looked and failed to find the person she was hoping to see, that lucky man she wanted.

That made him feel worse. If Belle had someone specific in mind, and had tipped the scales in his favor, then what right did he have to insert himself into her business? None. He was nothing to her.

He recognized this feeling for what it was: jealousy and he felt wretched about it. He had no right to feel this possessive over her when she only wanted to do something good for the community, undeserving as it was. She'd treated him with kindness and he went and turned that natural goodness into something rotten within himself.

Gold mulled over this impossible do or do not situation he’d put himself in. On one hand, he could very well be helping Belle out in a tangible manner. By outbidding everyone for a date with her, she would no doubt gain enough to complete the new children’s wing she needed and she would have a guarantee that she would remain unmolested.

On the other hand, if there was a boyfriend, if he had completely missed the fact that she was very much taken - and why wouldn’t she be? Belle was perfect in every way - then he would be the obnoxious, perverted older man deliberately inserting himself where he didn’t belong, getting in the way of her happiness.

He was still wavering when Belle finally relinquished the microphone to Mrs. Lucas, who was fool enough to help sponsor this event, and stepped away from the podium to take center stage herself.

Gold felt his old heart stutter in his chest that the sight of her. It was good that she’d been behind the podium for the proceedings because what she was wearing should have been illegal. Should have been. Wasn’t. He shifted in his seat, flushing up to his ears at the catcalls and whistles that greeted her appearance. He’d been right, the men of this town weren’t to be trusted with anyone let alone Belle.

He couldn’t hear a thing Mrs. Lucas was saying over the pounding of rushing blood in his ears. Belle stood on stage in her short, blue sequined dress and outrageous heels and waited demurely for the bidding to start. She smiled, though, to Gold, it didn’t quite reach her eyes. She wasn't... She wasn't happy. Perhaps her boyfriend never showed.  

The bidding got underway and the amount quickly rose in an alarming manner. Gold, keeping a close watch on the bidders, had that much in loose change in his couch probably. Maybe. The testosterone-filled residents of Storybrooke didn't stand a chance against him.

He took out his checkbook and quickly filled in the pertinent information, signing his name at the bottom. In the memo area he paused wondering what to write and then he simply wrote “Belle’s Library.”

Mrs. Lucas lifted the gavel and Gold was dimly aware that the price reached was a nice, tidy sum in the lower three digits, but nowhere near what was needed. Belle stood there with her chin bravely up and her arms crossed protectively over her stomach, her hands cupping each elbow, waiting with an insincere smile at the highest bidder  — a chinless, brainless, and very nearly soon-to-be toothless cretin with more money than common sense, grinning widely in a way that made Gold’s skin crawl.

This was obviously not the person she liked if her body language was any clue. And it was.

Just as Mrs. Lucas was about to hammer down the gavel signalling Belle’s sale and the end of the event, Gold stood up, calling out for her to stop.

The hammer hung limp as Gold walked down the side aisle, ignoring the loud mutterings of the auditorium. His attention was on Belle and the way she bit her lip in an attempt to keep from smiling, but he saw it in her eyes and he knew that, though he may not be the one she had expected, he was more welcome than the other person who was about to win a date with her.

Mrs. Lucas spoke up, sharply. “Do you have a bid, Mr. Gold, or are you just being a drama queen?”

The audience laughed, but Gold paid them no mind.

He smiled at her, all teeth and silent threats of raised rent. “I do have a bid, Mrs. Lucas,” he told her, handing her the check when he reached the stage. He set his cane down in front of him, placing his hands over the handle just so in a manner he’d perfected years before. He could feel everyone’s eyes on him, but he was used to that. He was more concerned with Belle and what she was thinking, but, other than a sense of relief radiating off of her, he couldn’t tell how happy this turn of events made her.

Mrs. Lucas looked at the check, wrinkling her forehead in confusion. “It doesn’t have anything entered. It’s blank.” She glanced at him then at Belle with a tiny head shake of her head.  


“Yes, Mrs. Lucas, it’s blank. Miss French can fill in her own amount for the remainder of the money she needs for the construction.” He smirked at the way the the chatter rose up again at the turn of events and snuck a glance at Belle.

She snatched the check from her friend, staring at it with her mouth agape, then down at him before he was able to look away. He’d been caught, but if there was any doubt as to his regard for her then he’d been outed with the check.

He squared his shoulders and waited for her verdict because it was Belle’s decision in the end.

“Is that acceptable to you, Miss French?” he asked suddenly feeling unsure about it all. 

She blinked, shaking her head as if snapping out of a trance and no doubt being handed a nearly unlimited supply of funds was a dream to most people, but Gold felt confident she wouldn’t abuse his generosity.

“I-I… Yes, Mr. Gold. This is acceptable,” she told him, smiling down at him shyly from her spot on the stage.

He nodded curtly and waited for Mrs. Lucas to bring her gavel down before turning on his heel to head towards the doors.

Everyone about him milled about. The winners trying to connect with their dates to confirm times and the people there just to observe and show support for the cause began to babble in excitement about how things had turned out. A few people snuck a peek or two at him as he made his way up the aisle, but no one dared approach him. No one ever did.

No one except Belle who had run after him. She caught up to him in the lobby, grabbing his elbow and leading him off to the side where they had a bit more room to talk.

She opened her mouth, but nothing came out except a breathless laugh. She fidgeted and bounced, eyes bright and looking up at him as if he was her hero.

Preposterous notion, but he felt his chest swell with pride as he basked in her approval. There was something there in the light of her eyes that drew him in and made him feel as if he was actually worth something to someone. If only he could believe it.

He wanted to kiss her, but now he couldn’t because he’d just bought her and how would she feel if, in his giddiness, he assumed too much. He’d just paid for her library, but he didn’t own her. No one could own her

But he wanted to kiss her so much that it hurt

“Is everything okay, Miss French,” he asked, remembering that they were supposed to be arranging their date and now the reality of what he’d done hit him in full force. It was impossible that Belle would ever feel anything more than gratitude for his contribution. He’d made her happy, yes, but at the expense of any relationship that might have developed if he’d just come in and bid on her like a normal person instead of this ridiculous grand gesture he’d performed in front of the whole town. He knew what would happen if he let his fondness for the librarian be known. If he pursued her and, miraculously, won her regard. They would assume that they’d arranged for more than just a date. That he’d bought and paid for more than dinner. That Belle was…

He couldn’t do that to her.

Mrs. Lucas was right, damn her. He was a drama queen.

Belle found her voice just then. “I thought maybe instead of a picnic, we could eat some place private? I, um, I  make a very good lemon chicken,” she said, nervously twining her fingers together.

Ah. Of course. She would be embarrassed to be seen in public with him and, naturally, wanted to keep things as low-key as possible. A bit too late seeing as how he’d just publicly won her bid and, by now, the news of the greedy Mr. Gold swooping down to snatch up the beautiful librarian with a ridiculous sum of money had spread all over town. But, if she would rather not be seen with him, then that was fine. He probably wouldn’t even show up to their “date” anyway just to save her the discomfiture of being near him for so long without the buffer of a public setting. It would be a shame to have her waste the lemon chicken she was so proud of, but he thought it would be a small price to pay rather than be in his company and, well, there was no reason to keep on pretending she tolerated him any more than the next library patron. She was kind to him, but she was kind to everyone. It meant nothing.

Nothing.

“That won’t be necessary, Miss French,” he said, looking away towards the front entrance, wishing he was back at his house, a tumbler of scotch in his hand and his heart… his heart had been given away long ago. He could admit it to himself now.

“I haven’t any intention of dining with you,” he said. “I merely made a charitable contribution, which I would have gladly done if you had just come to me in the first place. You wouldn’t have had to go through this…” he glanced around in antipathy. “Farce.”

She looked at him in confusion, the smile wiped from her face in an instant. “I don’t understand, Mr. Gold. Why pay all that money if you—"

“I plan on deducting it from my taxes. Everyone wins,” he interrupted with a wry twist of his lips before turning on his heels and walking out, wishing like hell that he was able to do so without limping. He felt her gaze on his back and straightened his shoulders even more. So he limped. So what? He owned everything and no one could take that away from him.

  



	3. Chapter 3

It had been over a week since the auction and Mr. Gold had yet to see any significant decrease in his bank account. He’d checked it the next day out of burning curiosity thinking that Belle would deposit it into the library’s account first thing in the morning, but, of course, it was too soon for it to register online. So he checked again that afternoon and then the next day and the day after, but there was no movement on his account other than the transactions he’d personally made.

That could only mean one thing: his money was no good.

But how can it not be any good? It was all he _had_. Without money and the power it provided, he was a nobody. A nothing. He didn’t understand how Belle French just eschew it so easily when she needed it so much. He wanted her to take it, He wanted her to use it, use a part of him for something she cared so deeply about, but every day that part of him sat in his bank account untouched and unwanted. The entire concept baffled him until he figured it out with a harrowing jolt: it had to be him. The money was tainted through its association with him and that was too much for even the sweet librarian to overcome.

He thought about simply taking the cash out himself and handing to her. Surely he could estimate how much a simple building addition would cost, but he stopped himself as he walked out to the car and turned around back into his shop, coat half on and dangling from his arm. Belle had her reasons for not cashing the check and to force her to take something she didn't want would make him no better than the filthy bait-smelling man whom he'd outbid.

He was pondering his predicament when the bell on his shop door rang out followed by the dainty tapping of Belle’s high heels on his wooden floor. He leapt to his feet, upending chair with a loud clatter and scrambling over its legs in an effort to greet her before she barged into the backroom. A month ago he would have welcomed her company, but now all he wanted was to be left alone to stew in his self-hatred. He had a bottle of single malt waiting for him at home to help things along, after deleting her number from his phone so he couldn’t do something crazy like drunk call Belle at two in the morning, pleading for her to take his money for god’s sake and put him out of his misery. Drunk calling Belle would be the absolute worst thing he could do. No, that wasn’t right. Showing up on her doorstep would be worse. He’d have to remember to disable his car before he got down to hardcore drinking. No one needed a warbling serenade either. Not from him at least.

The bloody curtains would have to go, he thought as he fought with them, trying to find the opening which was stubbornly hiding from him. Surely the world had conspired against him today. He suspected that if he checked he would find the zipper in his fly down, but it was too late to look now because he’d found the opening and burst out into the front room in front of Belle French, the sight of whom made him nearly swallow his tongue.

She wore a light yellow sundress that reached to her knees while her chestnut curls tumbled onto her bare shoulders, pale in the shadowy light of the pawn shop and his fingers itched to run his fingers over the gentle slope of them. He would bet his gold tooth that they were as soft as they looked and tasted even better.

The shadows hid her face from his sight, but she stepped closer to him, wobbling a bit in her outrageous red heels and then he was able to see her better. She looked tired, he saw with dismay. As if she’d lost sleep over the past week and he felt a pang of guilt as he suspected he might have been the cause of it. Or the library was the cause of it and the lack of funding and the check that he’d given her that she refused to cash so it was all the same to him. He caused those dark circles under her eyes and, therefore, he was the worst.

Of course his words went on strike at this moment and refused to cooperate with his vocal cords. Everything he’d wanted to say to her disappeared at the reality of her in his shop and all he was left was a feeling of tightness in his throat and a need to be near her. He cleared his throat self-consciously feeling his face flush hotly before he composed his face into something neutral. No matter what he had to make sure that Belle wasn’t aware of his feelings for her. No doubt she would be disgusted with him if she ever knew how much he adored her.

“Miss French. Uh, good afternoon.” He looked around his shop, his eyes trying to focus on something he could use to spark a conversation and failing miserably. Books were always a good topic, but he lost the ability to speak when she looked at him as if she wanted to strangle him with his own tie. “What can I do for you?”

The corners of her lips pulled down into a frown and Gold felt even more like a heel than he had before. Her hands clenched at the fabric of her skirt reinforcing his impression of imminent strangulation and he resigned himself to the inevitable: she would be lobbing one of those wooden puppets at his head before their meeting was done.

“I'm here for our date,” she told him after a long, silent pause and he realized that she’d expected him to say something more and lost her patience.

He blinked, a spark flaring up in his empty shell of a heart before he doused it with reality. Belle was here to perform a duty, there was nothing romantic or even social about her call and he wanted to save them both the excruciating pain of the world’s most awkward date. It was why he released her from it in the first place.

“That’s, uh, that’s a pretty dress,” he said, awkwardly, wincing at the clumsiness of the compliment and the bad timing of it. He’d never mentioned her clothes before why did he begin now? It _was_ a pretty dress, though Gold rather thought Belle would look good in anything, the soft fabric skimmed her body in the most alluring way and he imaged that she picked it out just to entice him to touch her. If this had been a real date, he might have been able to pay her compliments without feeling like he was trying to buy her approval, but as the words left his lips, he had the distinct impression that he disappointed her every time he opened his mouth.

“Thanks! It has pockets,” she said, brightly, demonstrating by slipping a hand into one only to bring it out full of a small, but lethal-looking gun. She pointed it straight at him, her chin held up in determination as she leveled it at his chest.

His jaw and his heart dropped at the sight of the ugly looking thing in her small hand and then the steely look on her face. It wasn’t the first time he’d seen the business end of a gun and he’d always suspected that it would be the last thing he saw before he met his eventual death, but he never expected that he would ever see one in Belle French’s hands and pointed at him no less.

He held his hands up slowly, his eyes darting from the gun to his assailant. He had to say something, to talk his way out of whatever had caused this ire in her, but he could only manage a breathless wheeze before he tried again with a weak sounding, “Miss French?”

“Please, Mr. Gold, we’re on a date. Call me Belle.”

He looked up from the gun to her face, trepidation joining the miasma of troublesome feelings that was brewing in his stomach. “B-Belle. What are you doing?”

“I’ve already said, we’re going on a date. Remember our picnic that you bought?” she asked pointedly, her eyes widening in irritation at him. “Are you going to come or will I have to shoot you first then have the picnic in the emergency room?”

He looked at her in bewilderment, feeling as if there was some sort of cosmic trick being played on him. He’d given her an out. 

“But _why_?” he asked, trying to catch his breath, but it felt as if his lungs were closing in on themselves. He thought he’d been perfectly clear when he told her that the date wasn’t part of the deal. He gave her money and in return she would be happy. Deal done. “I told you that you don’t have to—”

She stamped her foot at him in frustration, a small grumble coming from the back of her throat before she burst out, “I can’t! I can’t deposit that check knowing you— knowing that I haven’t fulfilled my end of the deal. Now you’ve made it clear that you have no interest in following through and maybe you don’t mind, but I do. So we’re going to the library and we’re going to eat and then… well, _then_ you can go. But not until after I say so.”

He stared at her, his chest tight with apprehension. “And you’re going to hold that the entire time? You’re just gonna walk outside holding that thing on me?”

She gave him a look that told him exactly how stupid she thought he was being. “Mr. Gold, do you honestly think anyone in this town would stop me?”

The lump in his throat tightened as her words hit him. “No,” he said quietly, blinking quickly as he felt his eyes well up. As if he being held hostage by Belle French wasn’t horrifying enough, he didn’t want to add to his humiliation by crying in front of her. “No, they-they wouldn’t. Probably—” he gulped for air and tried to make light of it. “Probably’d pay to take turns to shoot me. Might’ve been a better idea than the bachelorette auction,” he added with a wry twist of his lips.

Belle made a tiny, hurt noise, looking up at him with watery eyes and scrunched up, quivering mouth and Gold didn’t know how he could feel any worse, but he _did_ as crazy as that seemed. All he wanted was for Belle to be happy and he’d done everything he could to make that happen, but all that came of it was Belle near tears and a gun in his face.

“You—” she stopped, taking a deep, shaky breath and slowly letting it out slowly before she was able to speak again. “This is ridiculous. Just get your jacket and walk to the library,” she began before she stopped him with a hasty, “Wait! No, just leave as you are,” she said, eyeing his shirt garters with a strange look on her face.

He slowly lowered his arms until they hung by his sides, heavy and useless. “Okay,” he said slowly. “May I lock up?”

She nodded in a short jerky movement and backed away from him as he walked towards the door. He flipped the sign to ‘closed’ and held the door open for her, feeling a sense of surrealness about the whole situation. He was being kidnapped. Kidnapped and held for a ransom he’d already paid and, worse, Belle French was going to shoot him before it was over with because there was no way he’d be able to spend any amount of time with her and not be offensive in some manner. Indeed, he’d managed to do it now with barely three words spoken between them.

He was doomed.

“Slow hand movements,” she told him and he felt the hard, uncomfortable pressure of the gun’s muzzle against the small of his back.

“Is that even loaded?” he asked as he carefully brought his keys out of his pocket and locked his store up tight. He let them dangle from his finger through the loop instead of risk a bullet through his spleen.

“Of course it is!

“Where did you—”

“Just shut up and scoot.” She poked him with it and he stumbled forward, just catching himself before he tripped off the curb and broke his nose on the asphalt.

He heard her sharp gasp then a hurried, “I’m sorry, Mr.Gold!” before a pair of hands grabbed onto his shoulders to keep him from falling into the street.

She was touching him. Granted, he was wearing several layers of clothing between her soft hand and his skin, but she was touching him and she hadn’t burst into flames because of it. He shuddered as her fingers slid off his shoulders, the heavy pressure of her hands gone but the indelible impression of her lingering on.

Wait, her hands… that meant she put the gun away. They were outside and he could just walk to the sheriff’s station and have her arrested for assault. He glanced up the street towards the police and freedom, but he didn’t even consider walking away. He couldn’t. Not when Belle still needed him.

He squared his shoulders and stepped off the curb with as much dignity as he could muster, half hoping a car would just run him over and put him out of his misery and save Belle the trouble of shooting him. He could hear the tapping of her heels as she scurried after him and he was dying to look back at her, but he didn’t want to provoke her any more than he already had so he kept his eyes forward. The walk seemed to take an eternity before he was at the library’s double doors where he stopped and finally allowed himself to look at Belle’s face. She was worrying her lip with her pearly teeth, a small vertical crease between her eyes and she looked up at him with her mouth open as if she was going to tell him something important, but at the last minute she snapped it shut and gestured for him to open the door.

Yes, of course.  A gentleman would have opened a door for his date and he hurried to comply, but then she nodded for him to enter first and he remembered that this wasn’t a real date, this was a hostage situation — a bizarre turn of events he never saw coming.

The library at least was a public place. Belle would be unlikely to shoot him there lest she damage any of the books. He had no reason to doubt that she wouldn’t be so careful of his own hide, but if he was surrounded by the things she loved then he had a chance at least.

He was a bit daunted when they walked into the building and she led him straight to the back instead of towards the reading section by the windows, but she didn’t allow eating in the library so maybe that was the reason why they were heading towards the rickety, temperamental elevator. It was an old fashioned thing and she had to yank hard on a lever with both hands in order to get the doors to open, which they did with a series of clanking and ratcheting noises that worried him more than Belle’s gun. The mechanisms were exposed and he could watch the chain turn the gears as the elevator groaned to life.

Did she expect him to get into that contraption, he wondered with a well of panic as the doors slid open, revealing the polished brass interior and the metal grate that exposed the elevator shaft on the opposite side. Oh sweet Jesus, there is no fucking way he was getting in that.

“Please,” Belle said, gesturing with a dainty hand and giving him a tight smile that didn’t reach her eyes. “After you.”

Oh fuck, she was going to lock him up in it. Smart thing to do, save her the cost of a bullet and of course, no one would hear his screaming through the four inch thick steel door whereas a gunshot would send people running. He was breathing heavily as he stepped inside, mindful of the tight space and the archaic workings of the lift. Maybe she would cut the cables and pretend it was an accident. Splat! No more town monster.

He knew he was being ridiculous letting his imagination run away with him like that, but he was still surprised when she stepped in after him and tugged the door closed with a heavy, resounding clank that echoed in Gold’s head. He was certain he would have killed him by now if he was her. Belle, on the other hand, had more grace than he did. He’d obviously driven her to a breaking point and now he had to try and fix whatever it was he did and then never do it again.

“Why does the library even have an elevator?” he asked looking up at the pressed tin ceiling and the flickering light bulb that sat just off center. It would drive him to distraction if he wasn’t already distracted by Belle’s closeness and the way her hair smelled of roses warmed by the summer sun. The fear of her gun went out the elevator grate now that that he could almost lean down just a fraction of an inch and bury his nose in it. Almost. He didn’t dare.

She glanced at him over her shoulder before turning away with a pensive look on her face. “Back in the twenties this place used to be a speakeasy,” she told him with a false ease. “There used to be a back stairwell down to the subbasement, but it was demolished during the renovations in the seventies. My flat was their office and the clock tower was where they made their deals. Found a lot of documents underneath the floorboards once.”

He nearly chuckled at the image of Belle on her knees prying up parts of her floor, but the light flickered off then on again as their slow, grinding descent brought them below ground level and the quiet sounds of a working library disappeared above them and something she said pinged in his brain.

“ _Sub_ basement?” How far down were they going? He tried peering out of the grate, but all he saw was the greased-streaked wall of the elevator shaft. He turned back to her, an unwelcome twitching beginning in the corner of his eye, and he was forced to look away again, pressing a finger there to stop it.

She nodded her head, but didn’t answer him or even look at him so he took her distraction to look at her. Her jaw was set in a tense line and her lips were pursed in determination. She didn’t look angry, he realized. She looked unhappy and tired as if she had lost sleep this past week. He hated that she wasn’t happy, but a small, hateful part of him was glad that she had been thinking so much of him that she couldn’t rest. It gave a little of his own back even if the idea filled him with more loathing.

At last the elevator came to a slow, jerking halt accompanied by the protesting sound of a dying whale as the rusty gears stopped their reluctant turning. They had to wait too long for the door to open and Gold felt panic begin to bubble up again at the thought of being trapped in the lift with no one knowing their whereabouts, but open they did and, when he got a good look at the dark hallway it led into, he thought that dying in the elevator might be the better option.

Belle didn’t even hesitate, she clicked on a flashlight he didn’t even know she had much less where she kept it — obviously the pocket without the gun, he would have heard the clacking — and she started walking down the hallway with a muttered, “Follow me,” the yellow beam of light leading the way. “It’s a bit of a labyrinth back here.”

He could simply just take the elevator back up now that she was out of it, but he’d already come all this way and, though he didn’t want to admit it, he was scared to go up in the elevator by himself and he had no idea where the stairs were. Or if there were stairs even more.

He scuttled after her and didn’t stop until he almost accidentally kneed her with his cane.

She turned her head a bit with a small smile on her face, “I’ve been trying to find out who build this, but so far I haven’t tracked it down. I do know that the work was contracted to Marco Gepetto’s father, but not by whom. Did _you_ know he’s been here all his life? I thought he emigrated here... like us.”

The light from the flashlight was dim, but Gold thought he detected a bit of a blush on her cheek and, before she turned back around, he shook his head at her, adding in a low voice befitting the spooky atmosphere, “No, I never asked him where he was from. His accent isn’t Maine.”

“Maybe he lived in Italy when he was little,” Belle agreed, absently, her attention all on the hallway before her which was becoming lighter now that they were reaching their destination. “Just up ahead and then we can eat.”

Eat. Right.

“Look, Belle—”

She interrupted him with a brittle sounding, “Please don’t try to talk your way out of this. And be careful, there’s a pile of bricks over here,” she added, pointing to the mess spilling out into the hallway.

“I wasn’t,” he grumbled, carefully picking his way around it, her swaying yellow skirt enticing him further down the corridor, beckoning him to follow her to his doom. It was impossible not to obey. It turned out, he would follow her forever if she asked him.

Just as he was nearly hypnotized by the way the fabric of her dress fell down in long, thin folds until they caressed the backs of her knees, they turned another corner and the hallway ended at a heavy wooden door, which was propped open with a few of the bricks, to reveal a small, cozy room lit with a barely working crystal chandelier over the empty room. There were mirrors lining the walls, spotted with age and dusty from the years of neglect, and an old wooden bar was on one end with bare shelves behind it — the liquor having been removed long ago. A table stood on a small stage on the opposite end of the bar, surrounded by dozens of flameless candles placed carefully on the floor and with a jaunty picnic basket placed on top.

“I didn’t want open flames down here while I was gone, but the chandelier only had a few working bulbs left,” she explained as she switched the flashlight off, setting it aside on the ancient bar. “And the floor is hard, didn’t want to risk your leg,” she said with a shy smile as she lit a few wax candles with a shaking hand. “So I set up the table.”

“Ankle,” he told her, his hands tightly gripping the gold handle of his cane until he felt the embossing bite into his palm.

She glanced up at him, a curling lock of hair falling in front of her face, which she brushed aside impatiently. “Hm?”

“It’s my ankle,” he explained. “Not my leg. It was crushed in a car accident a long time ago.”

She stared at him, her mouth puckered up to blow out the match in her hand, but she watched him, wide-eyed, until the flame reached her fingers and she dropped it with a hiss.

“Shit,” she said, putting the side of her knuckle in her mouth and sucking on it, her eyes watering. “Sorry,” she said around her finger.

“Um… You know this is all really unnecessary,” he began and as her eyes flit to his for a moment, he continued. “The gun, this… whole thing. If I’d known this was so important to you — fulfilling your end of the deal I mean,” he said when her lip jutted out again. “I would have been happy to have lunch with you. I was just trying to save you the trouble. ”

“The _trouble_? Really?” She gave him a withering look before swallowing down another retort with effort. She looked down at her hands. “Wouldn’t have been necessary if you’d just cooperated back at the benefit.”

“Yes, well, apparently I need to pay someone to keep me company.”

“Not nearly as bad as having to hold someone at gunpoint just to have lunch with me,” she mumbled into fingers, looking miserable.

“What was that?”

She glanced up at him then back down at the candle. “Nothing. Help me with these,” she said, grabbing three and placing them on the of the table next to the basket.

He took one and followed her. The basket was open and inside he could see neatly wrapped parcels in kraft paper, tied up with red and white string. It all looked as pretty as a Pinterest board and Gold’s traitor stomach growled at the sight of it.

“This looks delicious, Belle,” he said, remembering that she’d dragged all this down here right before she dragged him down, too.

“Just a picnic. Feel free to sit down. I’ll join you in a minute.”

She made three more trips with the lit candles and now the stage they were on was awash in a flickering, golden light that cast strange dancing shadows on the cobwebby walls. Gold sat with his hands on his knees as Belle busied herself with the food, placing a few wrapped parcels in front of him, then a cold thermos, followed by a large styrofoam container.

“Chocolate cake,” she said with a sheepish grin. “I’m not that good at baking so I just got this at the

“And here I thought you were supposed to make everything,” he teased, lifting up the lid to see the half inch thick ganache that the bakery was famous for.

“I was supposed to provide it, not necessarily make it. I think. Actually, I can’t remember. I’ve been spending a lot of time feeling too angry to cook anyway.”

He stopped smiling instantaneously. “I’m… I’m sorry. I thought I was doing you a favor.”

Belle rolled her eyes but said nothing, just sat down primly and began unwrapping her sandwich. Gold watched her for a minute before he followed suit. The sandwich was thick and the ingredients were fresh but he couldn’t eat very much. His eyes were drawn to her more often than his food while she studiously avoided all eye contact with him. He wanted to explain himself, to tell her that she was better than he deserved which was precisely why he tried to avoid the date all together, but there wasn’t a good way to bring it up. “I’m sorry, it’s not you, it’s me” seemed so cliché and Belle also deserved more than trite platitudes. So he kept his mouth shut and chewed the food without really tasting it, watching as she picked at her fruit with a silver fork that he wished she’d just plunge in his chest and get it over with. Anything to spare her the awkwardness of his admiration.

She glanced at her phone, a tick quivering in the corner of her mouth before she bit her lip to stop it  “Another half an hour and then you can go,” she said quietly, breaking the silence between them.

He blinked, startled at first then set down what was left of his sandwich “You’re gonna let me leave then?”

She looked up at him, eyes wide with horror. “You think I’d actually shoot you?”

His lip twitched at the corner. “Wouldn’t you? You dragged me down here.”

She blinked at him rapidly, her blue eyes swimming. “That’s the only reason why you’re here?” she asked in a thin, brittle voice. “Because I made you come?”

“Would I be here otherwise?” he snapped, annoyed at himself for screwing up yet again. He should have learned by now to keep his mouth shut or just stick to books like he’d had before this whole benefit fiasco began.

She was silent for a long time with her head bowed as she studied her hands in her lap and Gold slowly began to realize that he’d stuck his foot in it once again.

“I'm sorry,” he said quietly. “That came out all wrong. I seem to make a habit out of saying the wrong things.”

She lifted a shoulder in a half-hearted shrug then jerked her head up, a resigned look on her perfect face

“This isn’t how I envisioned how our date would go,” she said with an attempt at a smile that didn’t quite make it. “When you swooped in at the last minute and bid on me, I thought… that I might mean something to you.” Her voice trailed off as if she was trying to remember something, then, “I understand I was wrong. Jumped the gun you might say, but I won't pretend to be disappointed.”

His eyes widened. “What,” he breathed.

She shook her head. “Nothing, Mr. Gold. Something stupid. I let my imagination run away with me that's all.”  She glanced at her watch then set her hands primly in her lap, looking at the knot in his tie instead of his face. “Time’s up. You can go, I’ll clean up.”

Go? Not when she'd said so many cryptic things to him. Not if he could help it. How could he walk away without finding out precisely what she meant? “But—”

Please don't make me shoot you,” she warned and Gold scrambled to his feet, his cane finding purchase on the dusty floor.

“Are you sure I can't—”

“Yeah,” she said thickly, tossing the leftovers into the picnic basket and doing anything to keep from looking up at him. He stood there for a moment unsure what to do. Her shoulders shook and there were troublesome sniffles coming from her tiny nose and he itched to take away the pain.

“Belle?”

“Date’s over, Mr. Gold,” she retorted. “Call me Miss French.”

“I see.”

“You need to leave.”

“I think I need to stay,” he answered back just as quickly. “You're not gonna shoot me.”

“What makes you think that?” she said glancing at him out of the corner of her eyes before going back to cleaning up by violently throwing the trash into the picnic basket.

“You’d have done so at the shop.”

She snuffled indignantly. “It's still not outside the realm of possibilities.”

“Never is,” he agreed. “But,” he said, gently. “Guns weren't necessary.”

“Beg to differ. You wouldn't have come otherwise.”

He shook his head at her, but she was still turned away from him. He lifted her chin with a finger, bringing her sweet face up to look at him and he found her beautiful blue eyes puffy and bloodshot and swimming with tears. He wiped a wet trail from her cheek, hating himself.

“I would have just given you the money,” he told her, truthfully. “I wish you’d just asked instead of going through all this…” He shook his head, unable to say anything more. She already knew that he never liked the auction, there was no need to bring it up again.

Her eyebrows drew together in a confused frown. “I’d never ask you for money.”

“Obviously,” he told her with a wry smirk. “But if you did ask, I would have given it to you. No deal, no strings.”

She wiped her nose with the back of her hand then sniffled again, her lower lip poking out in a pout that made Gold wish to kiss her more than anything — right after he eviscerated himself for causing her distress. She was staring up at him, her eyes boring into his as if she was trying to read his mind, but couldn’t due to his thick skull, but there was a light that had been missing in her wary gaze that hadn’t been there before. Soft and tentative, but there just the same.

“So you can write it off on your taxes?” she asked in a tiny, quavering voice that cracked at the last.

He winced and looked away, guilt eating at his gut in a manner that was become too familiar for his comfort. “No,” he whispered softly. “Not that.”

She stood up suddenly, so close now that he might have kissed her if she wanted. “Then it’s the library?”

“Miss French, I don’t care about the library. I-I mean,” he sputtered as her her eyes widened in outraged shock. “Uh, I mean, I _like_ the library…” He gulped down a shaking breath and looked away. She was demanding honesty from him and while he didn’t want to lie to her, he didn’t know if he was able to tell her the truth. He’d hoped he’d have been spared this much, but he’d been cruel to her, unintentionally it’s true, but intent was meaningless when he’d stomped all over her feelings despite his best efforts to be kind. He sat back down next to her, boneless and tired and wishing he was a better man. “I like the library, but mostly because you’re in it. I like you… _more_. A lot more in fact,” he said with a fleeting half-smile. His shoulders slumped as he realized he couldn’t leave today without telling her everything. And then she would shoot him. “You’re the reason why I made the donation, not because of the library expansion, but because you needed it and I wanted you to be happy. That’s all,” he added in a whisper.

“I don’t understand. Why all the hostility about the auction?”

“Jealousy?” he said, wiping a hand over his mouth before plunging on. “Of someone bidding on you and winning and I was afraid you might like them and I would never see you again. So I showed up, made a fool out of myself and embarrassed you in the bargain.” That curling lock was back and, this time, he was unable to resist the temptation of gently tucking it behind her ear, trailing the backs of his fingertips along her jaw before he jerked his hand away, clenching it into a tight fist at his side. “I just wanted you to be happy. I thought the children’s expansion would do that.”

She was staring at him, wide-eyed. Her mouth hung open and she gawped at him a brief moment before she was able to speak.  “Having that does make me happy, but I want you to know you made me very happy when you had the winning bid — and not because it was the winning bid,” she added hastily, taking his free hand in hers and holding on tight. “Because it was you, Mr. Gold. I was hoping it would be you all along.”

She gave a quavering smile that shot a lightning bolt of something all the way from his skull down to his toes and it took him a moment before he realized that what he was feeling was happiness.

He laughed, then, just a short, trembling thing that burst out of his lungs and ghosted over her face, but she joined him, her own laugh brittle and wobbly before she pulled him into a hug that nearly knocked the air out of him. He wrapped his arms around her, closing his eyes before burying his face into the soft cloud of her hair. “I’m so sorry.”

She made a whimpering sound from the back of her throat, but didn’t answer, just hugged him tighter until he gave in and let himself live in the moment, holding her snug within his arms and memorizing the way she felt next to him.

“Jamie,” he said when he pulled back to gaze fondly into her eyes.

Her confusion was apparent. “What?”

“It’s my name. As long as we’re on a date, I imagine you should at least use it.”

“And, _uh_ , after the date?” she asked, pointedly. “Which is pretty much now.”

Oh, right. He’d fucked it up so much she wanted him to leave. Still… “I imagine you should use it. If you want.”

She tilted her head to the side, thinking it over as she warily watched his face. “I’ll consider it, Jamie.”

“I can’t ask for more than that,” he told her eyeing the way her tongue flicked out to wet her lips, reminding him exactly how close they were and how much he desperately wanted to kiss her now.

He marveled at her and how she didn't hate his guts despite his best efforts to sabotage his own happiness. Didn't hate him, actually _liked_ him, which was a mind blowing concept that never occurred to him.

And he most likely wouldn't end up with a bullet in his spleen. The day wasn't over yet.

“You know,” she said, grinning up at him slyly. “Sometimes a date ends with a kiss.”

A gunshot to the spleen sounded less likely now and he couldn't keep his own grin from emerging. It felt a bit odd to him, but he thought he could get used to it. “They sometimes end in a slap, too,” he quipped before he was able to stop himself.

The answering smack across his cheek echoed sharply in the empty room, but before the shock registered, Belle pulled him in by his tie and planted her lips firmly on his.

His cheek smarted, but Belle's lips were soft and inviting and tasted divine and he soon lost sense of everything except for her. She wrapped her arms around his neck — probably a precaution lest he try to run away — until he melted against her, tugging her closer by her hips until she was pressed against him and not even the dust motes could come between them.

They broke away, gasping and smiling and their lips swollen, and Gold’s brain was a bit scrambled due to the sensory overload, but he still had the presence of mind to kiss a trail from the corner of her mouth to her dainty earlobe where he whispered, “thank you for not giving up on me.”

She gave a tiny laugh as she leaned her forehead against his chest. “It was a near thing,” she said, looking back up at him, sincerely. “But I had to try.”

“Belle?”

“Hm?”

He nuzzled the back of her ear with his nose before asking, “Is that a gun in your pocket or are you just happy to see me?”


End file.
